


Mix Up at the Vic

by Amuly



Category: EastEnders
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-12
Updated: 2010-12-12
Packaged: 2017-11-03 23:29:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/387171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amuly/pseuds/Amuly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courtesy <a href="http://analia-the-1st.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://analia-the-1st.livejournal.com/"><b>analia_the_1st</b></a> via twitter: Accidentally plastered!Syed can't keep his hands off Christian. In public.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mix Up at the Vic

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this while drunk one evening. It really didn't turn out as badly as it might have.

 

Syed groped at Christian in the Queen Vic. He felt warm, and happy. That feeling was currently encouraging him to grope at Christian's arse, which just looked  _ so damn good _ in those jeans. Syed really wanted those jeans off. Now.

With a laugh and a curious look, Christian pushed Syed's hands off of him. “What are you up to?”

Syed laughed. What did Christian  _ think _ he was up to? He was groping Christian's arse. Of course. This should be rather self-evident. Syed made a grab for Christian's – rather delectable – arse again. “Grabbing your arse. 'Course.”

Christian's eyes were on him suddenly, studying him. “Did you have something to drink?”

Syed stared down at his orange juice. “No. N- no. No?”

There was a long moment as Christian picked up Syed's drink and tasted it, rolling it over his tongue carefully.  _ Christian's tongue _ .  _ Oh _ . Syed  _ really _ wanted to feel Christian's tongue. Right now.

As Syed made a lunge for Christian, mouth wide open, Christian pulled back and set the drink down on the pub counter. “No, Syed. There's a bit in it. Not a lot, but you've had four of these at least since we've been here.”

Syed blinked. A bit what? He had... With an abrupt moment of clarity Syed gaped. “It's... I'm drunk?” The warm, happy, exhibitionist feelings that had been flowing through Syed's veins suddenly made sense. He paled. “I... I didn't... what...”

But Christian – fabulous, wonderful boyfriend that he was – was already taking care of it. “Kat!”

Syed tried to focus as Christian yelled at Kat, but his eyes kept closing slowly, then drifting to Christian's arse. It was so... so plump. So damn pretty. Maybe that “rimming” thing that Christian had been raving about wouldn't be that bad. Christian's arse just looked so good... Syed could eat that out. Why not?

“Syed. _Syed_.” There was a moment of confusion as Syed blinked slowly, drawing his eyes away from Christian's arse. Christian was trying to say something to him.

“Hm?”

“Syed. We need to get you home.”

“So I can eat you out?

Syed was aware he might have said something very, very bad, because his whole side of the bar suddenly went silent. He glanced around. His mum wasn't there. Or dad. Or even Tamwar. So why should it matter that people knew him and Christian had sex? Everybody should know that, by now. 

“Come on. Here: take my arm.”

Christian's arm was warm. And strong. Syed gladly took it, snuggling into Christian's side. Syed loved his boyfriend so much. “You're so... I love you. Perfect.”

Christian was laughing next to him as they slowly made their way out of the pub and back to their flat. Syed frowned briefly, wondering at their last round of drinks. He couldn't quite remember, but Christian must have paid for them at some point. He was good at stuff like that. Syed leaned over and tried to snog Christian for being such a good boyfriend.

“Good... love you...”

“Yes, Syed.” To his surprise, Christian pushed him away. Christian _never_ pushed him away. Not when Syed was trying to snog him.

He frowned and tried again, only to find the same reaction: Christian gently nudging him away from a public display of affection. “Christian...” Syed whined. “Don't you love me?”

“I do, dear. Of course I do.” Syed felt Christian's gloved hand squeeze his tightly. The contact made Syed feel all warm inside. “Just not out here. You'll be embarrassed in the morning: trust me. I'm saving you the regret.”

Syed couldn't really understand this. All he knew was that he wanted Christian. He tried to lunge again, only to find Christian pushing him away.

“Look, love: we're at the front door. Come on up, and you can do whatever you want to me.”

Syed felt himself growing hard at the thought. Yes. Yes, all of that sounded very, very good. And rimming sounded good, too. Why had he ever protested to it before?

They stumbled into their flat, grappling at each other, tongues thrusting into each other's mouths. This made Syed happy. He loved Christian's tongue. It was absolutely brilliant. He wanted it everywhere, all the time. “Christian,” Syed moaned as they stumbled onto their bed together. “Christian, Christian...” There was a brief moment of searing eye-contact, as Syed stared deep into Christian's eyes. “Christian: rim me.”

“Are...” Christian's voice sounded choked. “Are you sure?”

“ _Please_.” Syed could think of nothing better at the moment than Christian's tongue shoved deep in his arse. _Yes_. That sounded bloody _fantastic_. “I want it. Please, please Christian: please, I want your tongue. _Please_.”

An absolutely desperate growl escaped Christian's mouth as he flipped Syed over and divested him of his clothing. “You're going to regret this...” he murmured.

At the first touch of Christian's tongue to his arse, Syed knew – absolutely  _ knew _ – that he wouldn't regret it. Oh heavenly  _ fuck _ .  _ Yes _ . Christian's tongue... on his arse... Syed howled, fists clutching at the sheets and arse thrusting shamelessly up at Christian's talented mouth, then down again at the sheets. He reached a hand back, only to find one of Christian's hands stretching out to reach his, squeezing tight even as he delved in, tongue licking deep inside Syed. 

He cried out, orgasm building within him. So good: it felt so,  _ so  _ good. Syed keened as he pressed back, hips pressing out a steady rhythm against Christian's mouth.

Abruptly it all changed. The thrusting motion Syed's hips were making quickly became nauseating, rather than delectable. There was a moment of scrambling and shoving, and a mumbled “No, no, gonna...” before a bin was shoved in front of Syed's face, and he was vomiting violently into it. He gripped the sides, throwing up until his stomach felt empty, then heaving some more. 

His head felt infinitely clearer after he was finished, but his stomach still roiled and his face felt hot. “Oh... oh Christian... 'm s'sorry...”

A warm hand rubbed his back, the other still holding the waste bin in front of his face. “It's alright, love. Get it out. God knows I've been worse off.”

Syed felt like complete and utter shit. Oh, but this was terrible. It was a good thing he didn't drink. He never,  _ never _ wanted to feel like this again.  _ Oh _ . Terrible. 

Syed found himself heaving again, vomiting air, as his stomach contents were already empty. Christian's hand on his back was the only thing making Syed not feel like the worst piece of shit in the world.

Some time later – Syed couldn't tell when, his perception of time was all skewed – Christian pushed a glass of water and two paracetamol into his hands. “Take it. It'll cut the hangover tomorrow. Hopefully.”

He took the pills, doing his best not to vomit them back up – even though his stomach was begging him to do so. Christian was still a solid force next to him, getting Syed through the worst of it. By the time he found himself being pulled into Christian's secure embrace – the waste bin still close to his head on the floor – Syed felt world's better, if not still a bit nauseated.

“You didn't do... the alcohol...”

Christian's arms squeezed him lightly, and a kiss was pressed into his hair. “Kat got mixed up: I already told her off. It wasn't my fault, Sy: I'd never do that.”

“'know,” Syed murmured. “The rimming...” he blinked slowly, sleep drawing him under. “Nice. 'think...”

“We'll try it when you're sober,” was muttered into his hair. Syed was asleep before the next sentence, if there was another.   
 


End file.
